That Which Tears Us Apart Part I of 3
by FraidyCat
Summary: When the Eppes family gets bad news, will it bring them together, or tear them apart?
1. Chapter 1

Title: That Which Tears Us Apart

Author: FraidyCat

Genre: Gen. Angst.

Time line: Now. And Then.

Summary: When the Eppes family gets bad news, will it bring them together, or tear them apart?

Notes: After months of rabid reading, this is my first fan fic, Numb3rs or otherwise. I ask your pardon in advance for any etiquette faux pas in the future. Reviews appreciated!

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em – but wanna cuddle 'em.

Chapter 1

Don was really looking forward to the weekend. His unit had just cleared a big case, and chances were good Friday would be filled with paperwork, and no new case would be assigned before Monday. That meant two full, complete, days off. Time for the laundry, time for a movie, time for a nap…He was thinking about this so fully that Don didn't notice at first that Charlie hadn't said much since he'd picked him up at Cal Sci. Don remembered that Charlie had accepted with thanks when Don showed up unexpectedly in Charlie's office after his last class, and offered him a ride. Don and Charlie's father, Alan, had called Don's cell and invited him for dinner and the last game of the World Series on television — an offer Don could not refuse! Now they were almost all of the way to the house, and Don could not remember Charlie saying anything else.

Stopped at a traffic light, Don glanced his brother's way. Charlie's head leaned against the passenger window, and his eyes were closed. In the dim light, Don couldn't tell if he was actually sleeping or not. He tried to remember if Charlie was working on some project of his own, or with his friend and fellow professor Larry Fleinhardt. He had contributed an algorithm pattern to Don's recently closed case, but that had been over a week ago. If he was tired enough to fall asleep on the way home, he must be working on something else.

The signal changed to "green", and Don turned onto the street where he had grown up. When Alan decided to sell the house last year, Charlie had been so distraught at the idea of having to leave it, that he had bought it himself. Alan agreed to stay, and he and Charlie still lived in the house, with Don a frequent visitor. Stopping in the driveway, Don looked again at Charlie, who hadn't moved. "Charlie?" he asked softly. "Hey buddy, wake up — we're home." When there was no response, Don gently shook Charlie's arm. "Charlie, come on — wake up," he said, more loudly this time.

Charlie jerked his arm away from Don's grasp and brought it up to run fingers through his curly dark hair. He yawned, and looked sleepily at Don. "What happened?" he asked, confused.

Don laughed. "We came home, that's what happened!" he answered, opening the door of the SUV. Don waited for Charlie to grab his backpack and join him, then the two men walked into a kitchen that smelled of spaghetti and garlic bread.

"Just in time," Alan smiled as his sons entered. "Wash up and have a seat!"

"Great, dad," answered Don as he went to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. "I've been waiting for this all day!"

Soon the three men were focused on their meal. After his immediate starvation was sated, Don slowed down a bit to relish the home-cooked food, and glanced Charlie's way. Again, it occurred to him that he hadn't heard much from Charlie; Don and his father had been sharing news in-between bites, but Charlie hadn't entered the fray. Now Don saw that Charlie still picked slowly at his salad, and hadn't even approached the main event yet.

"Is something wrong, Charlie?" he asked. "You love spaghetti!"

This was all it took for Alan to begin studying Charlie as well. He grew concerned as he took in his son's complexion, paler than usual. He joined his questions with Don's. "Charlie? Aren't you hungry tonight?"

Charlie sighed and laid down his fork. He looked first at his father, then at Don.

"I know what you're waiting for here," he said. "You're both waiting for me to say that everything is fine." Suddenly, he pushed back from the table and stood. His gaze shifted to the floor, and he continued. "But I don't think it is," he almost whispered.

The obvious distress in his tone caused both Alan and Don to stop eating as well. Alan reached to touch Charlie's hand, which rested lightly on the table. "What is it, son?" he asked quietly.

Charlie raised his eyes back up to meet his father's. "I'm tired," he said simply, sitting down again.

"You look tired," interjected Don, "and you don't usually fall asleep on the way when I give you a ride home from school…"

"You're doing too much, again," growled Alan, glaring at Don. "You've got to stop asking him to consult all the time! He already has a full-time job, and his personal mathematical projects, and writing for those journals…:

"Wait a minute!" Don held his hand up. "I don't force Charlie to do his consulting work, with the FBI or anyone else! Besides that, he hasn't been doing anything for me!"

Alan looked confused, and switched his gaze back to Charlie. "Well, what is it then?" he asked. "Are you consulting for someone else right now? Something confidential that we can't know about?"

Charlie sighed again, and pushed all the dishes away from in front of him. Than he laid his arms on the table to form a cradle for his head, which he immediately dropped to rest there.

"Charlie?" Don's voice sounded too loud, even to him.

Charlie sat up again. "That's just it," he said. "I'm not consulting anywhere right now. I'm not helping Larry or Amita with anything — in fact, they're helping me, fact-checking my latest project before I submit the results to a journal. I'm in-between everything. All I have to do is teach."

Don grinned. "You're not busy enough? That's why you're tired?" Alan began to relax as well, until Charlie continued. Refusing to look at either of them, but concentrating on his fingernails instead, he said, "That's not all."

Alan and Don exchanged a look.

"What do you mean?" Alan asked softly.

Charlie spoke rapidly, as if getting the words out quickly was the only way he was going to get them out at all. "I'm tired. I said that already, but I mean _REALLY_ tired. I have to take a nap everyday at lunch just to finish my classes. I can't seem to concentrate, I'm so tired all the time. I have no appetite. I've lost almost 10 pounds this month. And I have all these bruises…most of them, I don't even know where they came from. My hips hurt, my knees hurt…sometimes, I run a fever for no apparent reason…"

Alan's face paled, and again he clutched at his son's hand. "You have to see a doctor," he said.

Charlie moved to hold his father's hand with both of his, and looked directly at him. "I did," he said. Squeezing his father's hand, he continued, "Dad…he's doing blood tests, and he also wants to schedule a bone marrow aspiration.'

Don watched Charlie, and listened to him, and felt himself go cold. "How long have you been hiding all this?" he asked, sounding angrier than he had intended.

Charlie dropped his father's hand, but didn't break contact with it as he shifted in the chair to face Don. "I haven't been hiding," he stated flatly. He stared at Don until his brother met his gaze. "I'm not hiding," he said more gently. "Which does not mean I've reached some great new level of maturity, Don. I just don't have the energy. All of this just started a few weeks ago, and I just had my doctor's appointment this morning. I would protect you both if I could…" he looked again at his pale father, and then, sighing yet again, back to Don. "I don't want to tell you this. Either of you. I was just too tired to figure out a way not to."

Don's face suddenly paled as well. He pushed back from the table and jumped up. Unconsciously he began to pace and run one hand through his hair. "Why, Charlie?" he barked, in his best interrogation tone. "Protect us from what? What's the bone marrow test, the blood tests, what are they for?"

Charlie tightened his grip on his father's hand, but did not look at him. Instead, his eyes locked with Don's, and he tried to absorb some strength from all the anger emanating off his brother. His voice didn't even shake as he answered.

"Leukemia. Acute lymphocytic leukemia."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The weekend Don had been looking forward to quickly turned into torture. All three Eppes men had to process the possible results of Charlie's bone marrow aspiration, which had been scheduled for Monday afternoon. In the laundry room of his apartment building, Don found himself staring at the clothes in a dryer, counting the number of circles they made around the cylinder, and he tried to calculate how many circles equaled a dry sock. "Charlie could do this," he thought. "Charlie CAN do this…Charlie WILL do this…" Frustrated, he abandoned the laundry and drove over to Charlie's house.

He walked into a kitchen he barely recognized. Cupboards were open and bare, their contents spilled onto the counters. His father stood at the open door of the refrigerator, gazing thoughtfully inside. "Hey, dad," said Don. "What's going on in here?"

Alan started, then turned to look at Don. "You scared me, Donnie," he said. "I've decided to inventory the kitchen, maybe rearrange a few things…". Sheepishly, he added, "I need something to keep busy."

Don gave his father a small, tight smile as he sat at the table. "I know what you mean," he said. "I finally gave up on my laundry. I found myself trying to apply mathematical principles to socks."

His father's eyebrows arched, and he joined Don at the table. "What? You don't even like math!"

"I don't get it either," offered Don. "I guess I was trying so hard not to think _about_ Charlie, I started thinking _like_ him."

Father and son looked at each other, trying to lend each other the comfort that knew no words. Finally, Don shifted in his chair slightly. "Where is he?" he asked. "I thought maybe we could go to a matinee or something. Something normal, and distracting."

"Last time I saw him, he was sleeping on the couch," Alan answered. He rose to get back to reorganizing the kitchen, looking one last time at Don. "If you get him to go with you," he said quietly, "please try to work a late lunch in. I know he says he has no appetite, but he's got to eat…he'll need his strength."

Don squeezed his father's shoulder as he passed behind him to enter the rest of the house. In the living room, Charlie was, as Alan had said, sleeping on the couch. Don sat in the nearby chair and watched him for awhile. He was covered with one of their mother's afghans, though it felt warm in the room to Don. Even sleeping, Charlie looked exhausted. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and Don could see bruises on the arms that rested outside the blanket. "I don't care how recently this started," thought Don. "We should have seen how badly he felt."

Charlie shifted on the couch and Don called, "Charlie? You waking up, Buddy?"

Tired eyes opened and focused on Don. A slow smile spread across Charlie's face. "Donnie!", he said, raising one hand to rub at his eyes. "What're you doing here? Run out of laundry?"

Don laughed. Apparently, some part of Charlie had been listening at the dinner table Thursday night. "No, I think I'm covered there," he answered wryly. "But I'd rather go to a movie. How about you? Are you up to joining me?"

Charlie slowly rose to a sitting position and yawned. "Sure," he said. "What time is the movie? What time is it right now? Do I have time…"

"Whoa, Whoa, Whoa, Charlie!", laughed Don. "I haven't picked out anything, I just thought we'd go to the Cineplex and see what's up. So you have time for whatever."

"Good idea," Charlie said, pushing up off the couch. "I think I'll take a shower first. It might help wake me up. Okay?"

"Perfect," answered Don. "Maybe I'll find the newspaper and go ahead and check the listings while I wait."

NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS

Three-and-a-half hours later, the brothers sat together in a Mexican restaurant, sharing their favorite scenes of the comedy they had just seen. Don was happy to see Charlie so relaxed, and yet so animated — almost like the "real" Charlie.

"Did you notice the thumb drive on that PC?" Charlie was asking. "It had to be glued there, that particular model of PC doesn't even have a USB port!"

Don shook his head. "It's a _movie_, Charlie, and a low-budget comedy at that. It's not supposed to be an accurate depiction of reality!"

Suddenly Charlie dropped the chip he was holding and paled. "Wow," he said, "this is somewhat unexpected…"

"What is it, Buddy?" asked Don, watching his brother with concerned eyes.

"I'm sorry," Charlie answered, quietly. "I don't know where this comes from…I've been having a great time, I was even hungry…" his voice trailed off so that Don could not hear him anymore. He couldn't hear him, but he could see the shade of porcelain his skin was becoming.

"Do you need to go home and rest?" he asked, touching Charlie lightly on the arm.

Charlie swallowed and looked at Don. "I think I'm going to have to…" and suddenly, a burst of energy propelled him from the booth, and he walked rapidly toward the back of the restaurant. Don half-stood to follow, but was intercepted by the waitress with their meals. "Thank you," Don said, smiling charmingly at her, "but we've just been called away. Could we get that to go?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"A.L.L. is fairly rare in adults," Dr. Meurth was saying as he prepped Charlie's hip for the bone marrow aspiration. "But it's not unheard of, and there is a fairly high remission rate; 80, last time I checked. We don't have to get into all of that yet. All right Charlie, here comes the local anesthetic — you should feel a slight sting."

Charlie involuntarily lurched as the needle penetrated his hip. Grimacing, he tried to look over his shoulder at the doctor. "Dr. Meurth," he spat out. "Did you realize your last name is an anagram for 'hurt me'?"

The doctor chuckled. "Actually, yes," he answered. "But believe it or not, you're the first patient to notice. Usually I save that bit of information to use as a tension-relieving joke somewhere down the line." He grinned at Charlie's back while he picked up a thin needle. "Here we go, Charlie!"

The doctor inserted the needle deep into Charlie's pelvic bone, then drew back on the syringe, obtaining a sample of bone marrow. He withdrew the needle, placed it on the tray beside him, and began to clean the insertion site again. "That wasn't all that bad, was it?" he asked rhetorically. "This will probably ache for a few days," he continued, slapping a bandage on Charlie's hip. The doctor stood, and walked around to the front of the examination table. Offering Charlie an assisting hand, he continued, "Just take some ibuprofen."

Charlie sat still for a moment until the blood flow caught up with his head again. "It doesn't hurt at all," he said. "I mean, there was a weird pressure, and it kind-of felt like a vampire bat latched onto my hip for a second…"

The doctor smiled, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Yes, well, don't forget, the local is still active. Skinny little guy like you? It'll hurt later." He turned toward the door, then looked back at Charlie. "Do you need some help getting dressed? I could send the nurse in."

"Doc," Charlie said, climbing off the table, "_hurt me_."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Three days later, Charlie sat in his primary care physician's office. Both Alan and Don had wanted to come, but Charlie asked them not to. "If I need to concentrate on what's being said," he had pleaded, "I can't do that if I'm worried about the two of you." Both men had started to protest, but Charlie held up a hand. "Look," he asked, "can we compromise? If the results are…if the results warrant it, my doctor will refer me to an oncologist. You can go with me then, all right?"

Now he looked at the doctor, who did not look back, but focused on the chart in his hands. "That's probably not a good sign," Charlie thought.

"I have the results of your cell surface antigen study and the bone marrow aspiration," the doctor was saying. Then he looked up, and caught Charlie's eyes. "I am sorry," he said, "but we are dealing with A.L.L." He waited for Charlie to speak, and when he didn't, the doctor continued. "I have a referral for you to Dr. Richard Stevens, a highly respected oncologist. His patient load was already full, but we went to medical school together, and I asked him for a favor – he's going to fit you in tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you," Charlie whispered, thinking, "I can't believe I just said 'thank-you' to the man who told me I have cancer."

The doctor was still talking. "You also have a low-grade systemic infection," he said, reaching for his prescription pad, "which is not unusual, given the circumstances. I'm going to put you on an antibiotic for that. How's your hip feeling? I noticed you were limping a bit when you came in."

Charlie wondered how long the room had been painted this color. Shades of red did not seem very soothing. He thought it an odd choice for a doctor's office. "It's okay," he answered, surprised at the concentration it took to utter those three syllables.

"Well, keep taking the ibuprofen," his doctor said. "It'll help with the fever from the infection." He waited again for Charlie to speak. After a few moments, he stood and walked around to the front of his desk. He leaned against it as he held out some papers to Charlie. "I know you're a man of education," he began. "Sometime soon, you'll want to read all this."

Charlie again whispered, "Thank you," and wondered when he had stood up, and why his voice didn't work right anymore.

The doctor walked with him to the door, and handed him the prescription for antibiotics. "Don't forget to get this filled," he said. "I want you to start taking them right away." He opened the door for his patient, then placed his hand on Charlie's shoulder as he passed into the hall. "And, Charlie?" he said, waiting until the Professor's eyes met his. He then handed him one last item. "This is my personal contact information," he said, "including my cell phone and e-mail address. Please get in touch when you have questions."

Charlie stuffed the business card in his jeans pocket, and stayed long enough to shake the doctor's hand. "Thank you again," he said, more strongly this time. "I appreciate all you've done."

Before the doctor could answer, Charlie turned on his heel and strode purposefully down the hall, towards the waiting area and doorway to the outside. Every fiber of his being concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and not dropping anything. He focused on the door, and somehow, made his hand reach out and turn the knob. The smell of the doctor's office was making him nauseous, and he all but lurched into the outside world again, grateful beyond belief to be out of that office. He kept walking, without thinking about where he was going; mostly, because now that he was moving, he didn't remember how to stop. Eventually, he felt a hand on his arm and heard a sound he didn't recognize. He stopped and turned. He looked into the eyes of his brother, who had waited for him in the doctor's office, and then followed him when Charlie had not seen him. Don recognized a small rectangle amongst the papers that Charlie clutched, and reached out to take it. "Got a prescription?" he asked. "Let's fill that on the way home." Charlie didn't answer, and didn't protest when Don began to guide him back towards the SUV they had walked right past. He opened the passenger door, guided Charlie inside, even fastened the seat belt for him. Then he walked around the front to the driver's door, got in himself, fastened his own seat belt and started the engine.

It was only then that he heard Charlie say, "Don? When did you get here?"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

As difficult as it was for him to do so, Don didn't press Charlie for details that evening. He simply stopped at the pharmacy long enough to fill the prescription, and took Charlie home. When he pried the remainder of the papers the doctor had given him out of Charlie's hand, he found the referral information for the next afternoon. With Alan and Charlie both standing in the kitchen with him, Don flipped his cell phone and speed-dialed Megan.

"It's Don," he said when she answered. "I need to take a personal day tomorrow. Can you handle things for me? I'll explain . . ." he looked hesitantly at Charlie, who Alan had guided into a chair, and finished, " . . . later. Yes, I'm fine, Megan, I don't need anything. Thanks for asking, and for covering for me. I'll talk to you soon."

Don clicked the cell phone shut and sat at the table opposite Charlie. Then he got up again, and pulled the bottle of antibiotics from his jacket pocket. Alan quickly filled a glass with water, and handed it to Don. Sitting down again, Don hesitantly touched Charlie's hand. Charlie looked at him, and the stunned confusion in his eyes nearly broke Don's concentration — and his heart. Focusing on Charlie's hands, Don took one in his and dropped a pill into it. "Here," he said. "You need to take this now." Charlie studied the pill for a moment, and then obediently popped it into his mouth, washing it down with a gulp of the water Don had ready for him. Then he looked at Don for more instructions. He couldn't seem to think of anything to do himself, a realization which annoyed him, but didn't frighten him. Not as long as Don was here. Don would know what to do.

"Do you want to take a shower now?" Don asked. "Maybe go to bed early?"

"Wait," Alan interrupted. "I made soup. I'll heat some up while you take a hot shower, Charlie. Come down and eat with us before you go to bed."

Charlie raised a hand to rub his temple. He didn't understand why everything sounded like a radio not quite on the station. Static-y. He looked up at Alan, then across the table at Don. "What?" he said, wondering if he was getting laryngitis. His voice didn't sound right.

Don stood, grabbing Charlie's arm to encourage him to get up as well. "Shower," he said. "You're going to take a hot shower now."

"Good idea," answered Charlie, as they headed for the stairs. "I'm a little cold."

Alan turned toward the stove and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. No one had to tell him what the test results were. He had seen this kind of shock before. Hell, he had _felt_ this kind of shock before, when his beloved Margaret was diagnosed with the cancer that eventually killed her. He wasn't sure he could do this again.

Don guided Charlie up the stairs, and once in the bathroom, Charlie seemed to figure out the shower all by himself. He turned it on, looked in the mirror for a moment and then turned to Don, who was still hovering in the doorway. "It's all right," he said, actually smiling at Don a little. "I can do this part."

Don smiled back. "I know you can, Charlie. Come downstairs when you're finished."

Don closed the door, turned and leaned heavily against it. He closed his eyes and tried to make his mind blank. After a minute, he walked toward the stairs. He flipped his cell open again and called Larry. He explained that Charlie would not be in the next day, and asked Larry to notify whoever he had to at the university in order to get Charlie's classes covered. Larry was concerned, and wanted details, but Don found himself unable to tell him much. "I'm sorry, Larry," he said, "I really can't talk now. We'll all talk soon, okay? In fact, I may call again and ask you to come to the house sometime this weekend."

"Of course, Don," Larry answered. "Just let me know what I can do."

"Thanks, Larry," sighed Don. He flipped the cell shut as he hit the last stair and turned into the kitchen. His father was seated at the table, but his eyes looked into the dining room. Don followed his gaze, and saw that his father was looking at a picture of his mother, one of the last taken while she was still healthy. In it, she was standing with Charlie beside the koi pond in the back yard. Charlie was pointing at something, and they both were laughing, unaware of the camera. They looked…happy. Don forced his eyes away, as if he were looking at something he shouldn't, and joined his father at the table. He picked up one of the brochures Charlie had brought home. "All right," he thought, opening it. "Rule Number One: Know Your Enemy."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Three straight-back chairs formed a semi-circle facing a large wooden desk. The desk was cluttered wih various medical textbooks, and models of human body parts. Don was finding it difficult to look at anything but faces, and he didn't like what he saw there. The doctor's face was carefully sympathetic, sort-of interested and detached at the same time. Don understood. He used that face himself a lot, in his own work.

His father's face was older. Infinitely older than it had been just a few days ago — and sad.

His brother's face was pale, but his eyes were bright, and fixed on the doctor.

Don didn't want to think about his own face, but he had seen it in the rear-view mirror on the drive over here. It was chiseled, determined, angry. It looked like it did when a particularly clever perp was avoiding his grasp.

"We begin with remission induction therapy," Dr. Stevens was saying. "This is a course of chemotheraphy that lasts between four and eight weeks; we begin testing your blood every week at the fourth week, to determine when you enter remission. And we are fairly certain that you will — over 90 percent of our patients enter a remission under this combination of drugs."

"Is it an outpatient procedure?" Charlie asked.

"It starts that way," answered the doctor. "It depends on how you react. At first, you will have someone drive you to the hospital daily, for three-hour intraveneous sessions. Your chemotherapy will include anti-nausea drugs, and you will always be given sort-of a "compazine booster shot" before you go back home. But I have to be honest with you. Your body is already in a weakened state, and chemotheraphy can be very difficult. If you have too much nausea, loose too much weight, develop a secondary infection like the one you have right now — you'll be hospitalized."

Alan suddenly found his voice. "Okay," he said, leaning forward, "let's say it's been four weeks and your tests show that he is in remission. Does that mean it's over?"

Dr. Stevens smiled to make the news easier. "Well no, Mr. Eppes. I'm afraid that means it's just beginning. Once in remission, we'll give Charlie a one-or-two week break from the chemo, just to give his body a rest. Then we start maintenance therapy — more chemotherapy, perhaps some radiation — to guard against loosing the remission. During both of these stages we are also conducting CNS, or Central Nervous System Sanctuary Therapy."

"I read about that," Charlie said, and Don wondered when, since he had kept all the papers and brochures with him. Don found himself almost smiling when he thought, "Charlie must be surfing the 'net again."

"It's basically just adding some drugs to our chemo cocktail," Dr. Stevens was saying, "maybe some radiation. In Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia, bad cells sometimes hit the road, and hide themselves in places traditional chemotheraphy doesn't reach, like the brain, or the spinal cord. CNS Sanctuary Therapy is a way to prevent those cells from forming secondary cancers, like tumours…"

"All right!" Charlie's voice was loud enough to make Don jump. Louder then he had heard it in days. "I told you, I've read about this. What else? What about…"

Don placed a hand on Charlie's arm, and looked at his face. For the first time since this all started, he saw anger there. Don thought he understood. Tell Charlie he has a cancer that may kill him, he'll shut down on you. But tell him one of those cancer cells might migrate to his brain, where it will steal his numbers…well, that's something else altogether. "Charlie," he said softly, squeezing his arm. Charlie abruptly stopped talking and lowered his gaze to the floor for a moment before looking back up, first at Don, then to Dr. Stevens.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, his voice much more under control.

Dr. Stevens waved a hand, and smiled. "Quite all right," he said. "I've had people throw things at me. Anyway, back to your maintenance therapy. I feel that you have the best chance of a complete recovery — not just a remission — if we conduct a high dose systemic chemo with a bone marrow stem cell transplant during this time. This will require quite a hospital stay. You'll be in isolation for two to four weeks during the high dose chemo, which is designed to kill virtually everything but you. Imagine that you are a blackboard, Dr. Eppes — I'm sure you can do that!" he smiled. "The high dose chemo will erase all the chalk, but the board will still be there, to receive new chalk — or, in this case, donated bone marrow. The transplant itself only takes a few minutes, but you must stay in the hospital, isolated, until your new bone marrow begins to make its own blood cells; probably another two or three weeks."

This time Alan spoke. "Donated bone marrow?" he asked. "From where? Who?"

"Well, there's the National Marrow Donor Program," began the doctor, but then Don leaned forward to look past Charlie at his father.

"From me," he said. He looked at the doctor again. "I've read that siblings are often a good match."

He felt Charlie staring at him as Dr. Stevens responded. "Yes, that's true; and if you're a willing donor, we'll certainly test you for compatibility." He shifted in his chair and looked back at the chart he was holding. "But all that's a bit down the road. Let's get the first round of chemo done first, and get Charlie in remission." He read in silence for awhile, then checked the calendar in front of him. Finally he continued. "Ordinarily, I would be aggressive and start as soon as Monday, he said, "but since you are already being treated for an infection. I want to give those antibiotics a week to do their job. I'll have my scheduling secretary set up your chemo to begin a week from Monday." He glanced back up and took his time to meet each set of eyes individually, ending with Charlie. "Use this time wisely," he advised softly. "Figure out your personal plan of attack, the logistics of taking time off your job, arranging transportation, food, all of that. And get a lot of rest, let your body recover from this infection so that we don't have to delay even more." Dr. Stevens stood, leaned over his desk and shook hands with each of the men before he began to walk toward a door at the rear of his office. "Please, take your time," he said kindly. "I know this is a lot to absorb. See my scheduling secretary on the way out."

Don, Alan and Charlie sat silently for a moment before Charlie shifted slightly to look at his brother in the eye. "Don…" was all he got out before Don answered, "Charlie. You're my brother. What else would I do?"

Charlie stood slowly, and Alan also rose to help steady his son. Charlie had a headache, and rubbed at his temple with one hand. "It's not that," he said, as the three men walked toward the future. He stopped and waited for Don to take another step and catch up to him.

"Then what is it, Buddy?" he asked, concern shining in his eyes.

Charlie sighed, dropping his hand to his side. "I was just wondering," he said, looking at Don, "if I have your bone marrow, does that mean I'll develop a talent for baseball?"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

On Saturday, the Eppes men went their separate ways. Charlie insisted that he was not yet so sick that he couldn't take a nap by himself, so Alan stuck to his usual schedule, attending a book club in the morning, and doing the weekly grocery shopping that afternoon. Don spent most of the day at the office, signing off paperwork and e-mailing assignments to his team, so that they could get to work first thing Monday morning.

By early evening, he was back at his apartment, nursing a beer and channel surfing, when his cell rang.

"Eppes," he answered.

"Eppes, also," came the slightly bemused voice of his father.

Don smiled. "Hey dad, how's it going?" he asked. "How's Charlie?"

"He's listening to you on speaker phone," replied his brother. "Listen, Don, this isn't why we called, but can you do me a favor?"

"Of course, Buddy," said Don, leaning back into the couch and lifting his feet up onto the coffee table.

"Don't start that, okay? Don't make that the first thing you say."

Don sat back up and frowned into the phone. "What? What're you talking about, Charlie?"

Charlie mimicked Don's voice. "'Hey Dad, how's Charlie?'"

Don heard his father murmur, "Charlie, he's just concerned…"

Charlie spoke to them both. "I get that, okay? Guys…I really get that. But please…can't we be normal for just a little while longer?"

His voice sounded tired, and Don squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry Charlie," he finally said, and suddenly a thought occurred to him. He opened his eyes and grinned. "I didn't mean to not be normal. It's just that it's genetic."

Charlie snorted and Don heard a strangled "Hey!" from his father.

"So why did you call?" he asked, still smiling.

There was a click while the phone was clicked off speaker mode, and soon he heard his father's voice. "Very funny," he said drily. "Charlie's gone back to the couch. I think he's having a hard time with this 'mild' infection."

Don's smile faded and he gripped the phone tighter. "Well, nothing's really 'mild' anymore, is it, Dad…" he said, and Alan sighed.

"No, no I guess not. Well listen, Don, Charlie and I were talking earlier, and he wants to have Larry and Amita over for Sunday brunch tomorrow. He's going to tell them."

"That's a good idea," Don said guardedly. "I'm sure this will affect his work even more than it has already. They should know."

"I thought so too, Don." His father was silent a moment. "He…well, he wants to invite you, also, and maybe your team members?"

"My team?" Don asked, surprised. "Why? Does he want to tell them, too? I guess he does spend a lot of time with us, consulting…that will probably change…"

His father interrupted him. "It's not that, I don't think, Donnie. It's for you. He knows you'll be distracted by this. He said that he wants Megan, Colby and David to know that they need to protect you better, now. Watch out for you. Be a support-system, you know?"

Don squeezed his eyes shut again and felt moisture threaten. "Dad…" he said quietly.

"I know," Alan answered. "He asked me to speak with Art, too, so that I'll have a friend to turn to when I need one."

Both men were silent for awhile.

"You know," said Alan finally, "he's been so open about this whole thing. I think it's important that we encourage that attitude to continue. He'll need to concentrate on his body, not waste his strength keeping secrets from us."

"You're right," Don answered, opening his eyes again and staring at his beer, which he no longer wanted. "What time is brunch?"

"We were thinking 10:30," answered Alan.

"Fine," said Don. "I'll call everybody on my end. I'll tell them it's important."

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Larry, Amita, Megan, Colby, and David exchanged stunned stares. Moments ago, they had been enjoying great food, Alan-Eppes-style, and then Charlie has asked them all to find a seat. He had smiled, and Larry and Amita recognized his switch into "teacher" mode. At first he paced a little while he explained events of the last week, but he soon grew tired, and sat down himself. Alan and Don filled in some of the blanks.

"Anyway," Charlie finally said, looking from one face to the other, "I thought you all should know this." He focused on Megan, then switched his eyes from David to Colby. "Don will need you," he said simply. "I will need to know you're keeping him safe."

Then he looked to Amita and Larry. "And you are my best friends," he said. "I could not do this without you."

Silence surrounded him, and Charlie felt like he did when he presented a particularly difficult principle to a freshman class. He was afraid that he had lost them somewhere.

"My G-d, Charles." Larry was the first to find his voice, but couldn't seem to think of anything else to say.

Suddenly, the day became too much for Charlie. The excitement and pleasure of a friendly get-together, the tension and palpable sorrow now sucking the air out of the room…Charlie stood up quickly. Too quickly, as it turned out, when dizziness caused him to sway. Several hands reached out, but it was Don who was there in an instant. It was Don who laid a warm hand on his arm, and said quietly, "Okay now, Buddy?" Charlie took a deep breath and steadied. Then he smiled, careful to make eye contact with everyone in the room.

"Please," he said, "Please stay and enjoy more of this delicious food. I'm sorry…" his voice and smile faltered a little, and he cleared his throat. He looked back at Don. "I'm sorry," he continued, "but I think I need to go up to my room and rest for awhile." In their stunned state, no one seemed to know what to say, and Charlie was soon gone. Megan looked around the room, trying to think, and saw Amita. The sight helped ground Megan, somehow, and she quickly crossed over to the other woman, and without speaking, placed a hand on her arm. Amita looked up, saw the sympathy in Megan's eyes, and unceremoniously burst into tears.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

By Wednesday of the next week, everyone had found some equilibrium again.

Don was at his desk, going over a profile Megan had done of one of the suspects in a banking fraud scheme, when Larry called him.

"Donald, hello, how are you?" the professor asked. "Do you have a moment?"

Larry never introduced himself on the phone, but Don couldn't imagine confusing him for anyone else. "Sure, Larry," he grinned. "What's up?"

"I'll try to be brief," Larry started, and Don rolled his eyes. "Larry" and "brief" were mutually exclusive words. He tuned back into the conversation. "Amita and I have done some research, and, well, we'd like to be involved," he heard.

"Involved? I'm sorry, Larry, did I miss something?" Don asked. "Involved in what?"

"With Charles, of course," answered Larry. "We understand he'll be needing transportation to and from chemotherapy, perhaps some company during the sessions…It's just that we would, both, like to be part of any rotating schedule that you and Alan may be setting up."

Don was silent long enough that Larry spoke again. "Don? Have I stepped over family boundaries?"

Don took a deep breath, and hastened to reassure the man. "No, No, Larry of course not. You know you're an important part of Charlie's family. I guess we just hadn't thought that far ahead."

"Well, if you'd like," offered Larry, "we'll be happy to design the schedule ourselves, taking into consideration everyone's variable needs and availability…"

Don couldn't hold back a fond laugh. "Larry!" he said. "Don't you think that's a little more than we need?"

"I know that it might seem that way, Don," Larry answered, "but these things can become quite overwhelming very quickly. Besides," he continued before Don could speak again, "don't you think Charles would appreciate an algorithm designed for him specifically?"

Don knew Larry was probably right. It was best to go into something this big with a plan.

"Yeah, " he said finally, "why don't you come over some evening this week, and we'll all work on it together?"

Don could hear the relief in Larry's voice. "That will be fine Don. Would tomorrow evening be all right?"

Don quickly checked his calendar. "Sure," he said. "Why don't you come for dinner? I'll tell Dad to expect you."

"Very good, Donald," Larry answered, and then he seemed to hesitate briefly. "And Don? One more thing?"

"Yeah, Larry?"

"I'm sure it will remain very important to Charles to stay mentally active, especially if he has to take a leave of absence from the University…"

"Wait a minute," interrupted Don, "what do you mean _'if'_?"

"Well, I spoke with him yesterday," Larry answered. "He hopes to be able to continue teaching half-time."

"That's ridiculous," started Don, but Larry quietly cut him off.

"Is it, Don? Doesn't he have to at least try?"

Don gripped the phone more tightly and raised one hand to rub his temple. "I guess so, Larry. I don't know. Anyway, what did you start to say?"

"Oh, yes, well, I am sure he will also want to remain consulting, at least with the FBI."

This time Don's voice was loud enough to make Megan look over at his desk. "Absolutely not!" he bellowed.

"Don, please," pleaded Larry, "I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted to say that Amita and I will be pleased to help him on any case he does take on. And if you have a need you'd rather not bother him with, well…I just want you to know, Donald, that Amita and I will do what we can for you."

Don felt a genuine rush of affection for this friend of Charlie's, who had proved his loyalty already in so many ways. "I'm sorry, Larry. Thank you. I appreciate that, really."

"You're welcome, Don. I'll see you all tomorrow night."

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Tuesday. Tuesday was his day to pick up Charlie at school and take him to the hospital for chemotherapy. When Larry and Amita has presented their schedule, he was surprised to see Megan on it as well, but they had assured him that _she_ had contacted _them_, and was actually responsible for the idea of a schedule in the first place. So now, Charlie had chemotherapy five days a week, and Don's day was Tuesday.

He idled the SUV at a red light, and thought, "This is my second Tuesday. There will only be two more before Charlie is in remission." He reminded himself that while he was at the hospital this afternoon, he needed to make an appointment to have a tissue type blood test done, to see if he could be Charlie's bone marrow donor.

Soon he was at Cal Sci, and Charlie was waiting on a bench in front of the math building. Don pulled to the curb and studied his brother, who appeared to be sleeping. The week of chemo behind him had been difficult. Symptoms he already had — fatigue, nausea, lack of appetite, fever — were worse then ever in the evenings, and into the night. So far, though, he had managed to get up every morning and go to work. He taught two classes every morning, and conducted office hours. During the chemotherapy session, he actually worked on lesson plans. Looking at him now, though, Don didn't know how long he could keep up that schedule.

Suddenly Charlie's eyes opened and he raised his head. Focusing on the SUV in front of him, he smiled and lifted a hand in greeting. He pushed up slowly off the bench and was soon climbing in next to Don. "It must be Tuesday," he said. "Don-day."

Don laughed. "You got it, Buddy," he said. "Though Dad and I are planning on switching next week, just so you won't know what day it is!"

Charlie smiled. "Hey Don?" he asked, as they pulled out into traffic.

"Yeah?"

"Do you have any cases you need my help on? I could use something to do this afternoon. With only two classes to teach, lesson plans don't take long. I think I'm six months ahead already."

After his talk with Larry, Don was ready for this. "I really don't, right now," he said, "and I mean that. If I needed your help on something, I'd still ask you."

He heard his brother's breathing for a few moments before a small voice asked, "Really?"

He reached over and clasped Charlie on the shoulder. "_Really_," he said. "Take a nap this afternoon. Put on your headphones and relax. When I do need you on something, you're going to need just a little more energy." He took his eyes off the road briefly to look at Charlie, prepared to say more if he had to. But he didn't, because Charlie was leaning against the window again, asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Great job today Megan, David," said Don as they headed toward the elevator. "Have a great night."

"What about you?" Megan asked, turning around and walking backwards. "Aren't you guys coming?"

Don glanced at Colby, who was still typing frantically. He looked back at Megan. "Nah, I want to wait for Granger to finish this 3120, and sign off on it tonight."

"I'm almost done!" Colby cried.

Megan grinned at Don and waved as she turned back around. "Good luck!" she called. "Give our best to Charlie when you see him tonight, and tell him I'll be on time tomorrow!"

"Thanks, Megan. Good night!" he called after them as the elevator door closed at the same time that Colby finally hit "Print" and rushed toward the print center to retrieve his document. Don shook his head and started to put on his jacket. As he picked it up, his cell phone began to ring in one of the pockets, momentarily startling him. "I thought this thing was gonna blow up on me," he muttered to himself as he finally found the right pocket. Looking at the caller display, he saw that the call was from Amita, and his heart jumped into his throat. This was Thursday, Amita's day with Charlie. Charlie.

"Eppes!" he yelled into the phone, louder than he intended. He tried to calm himself down, which was almost impossible because he could hear Amita gasping and choking as if she were crying.

"Don?" she said frantically. "Don, I'm sorry, I didn't know who else to call…"

"What's wrong, Amita?" Don interrupted impatiently.

"It's Ch Ch Ch Charlie." She gasped again, apparently trying to take a deep breath. "I don't think I can get him into the house by myself, and your father's not here."

"What happened?" Don tried to control his voice, to calm her with his own steadiness.

"I took him to therapy," she said, more quietly, "and he was sick during most of it. You know, vomiting. And he developed a fever. But they kept on giving it to him, and at the end just gave him a bigger dose of anti-nausea medication. We got to the car all right, but he's been sick a few more times on the way home, and he's so weak…Oh, G-d, he's shivering, now," she finished, her tone escalating.

Don was at the elevator, slamming his hand on the button. "Don't worry, Amita, I'll be right there," he said. "You just stay in the car with him, and try to keep him warm. You're doing great, honey. I'll be right there."

Don had jumped into the elevator and began pacing, impatient for it to reach the parking garage. Suddenly, he bumped into Colby. He hadn't even known the other agent was with him. "Colby?" he said, backing off a step. "What?…"

Colby grabbed Don's arm and pulled him out of the elevator, which had finally reached its stop. "Give me your keys," he said, breaking into a jog at the sight of Don's SUV. "I'm driving."

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Don was right. Charlie's schedule was about to change.

When Don and Colby reached the house, Don jumped out of the passenger side of the SUV and approached Amita's car. He opened the door, and the sight of her sitting there, cradling his brother against her in an effort to warm him up, tore at his already aching heart. He and Colby managed to get Charlie out of the car and carry him up to his room. By now, his father was home, and he was on the phone with Dr. Stevens. Amita waited just outside the room while Don and Colby got Charlie settled in bed, then all but pushed them aside in her haste to get back to Charlie.

"I talked to the doctor," said Alan quietly, joining Don and Colby at the room's doorway. No one could take their eyes off Charlie. "He said," Alan's voice faltered, and he cleared his throat before continuing. "He said that if the fever goes over 102, to take him to the ER tonight. Otherwise he'll see him tomorrow, and think about admitting him."

He suddenly seemed to see the bottle of water in his hand for the first time. "Oh!" He walked toward Charlie, and placed the bottle on the stand near the bed, "We're to try and keep him hydrated," he whispered quietly to Amita.

The two FBI agents stepped into the hall. Don ran his hand through his hair in the gesture he always reverted to in frustration, and sighed. "I'll give you a ride home," he said to Colby. "Thanks for your help." He turned toward the stairs but stopped when he heard Colby say, "If you don't mind, Don, I'd like to stay. In case you need me…" he glanced toward Charlie's bedroom "…you know, later…"

Don stood at the top of the top of the stairs and turned back to face Colby. "Colby Granger," he thought, "Afghanistan's terror." He smiled, and aloud he said, "Sure, Colby, I'd appreciate that. Come on. Let's see what we can find in the kitchen."

Halfway down the stairs, Colby spoke again. "Um, Don?" he asked, somewhat hesitantly.

"Yeah, Colby?"

"When we first got here, and we were all out at Amita's car…"

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Don looked at Colby. "What?"

"Well, it's just, I could have sworn…"

"What, Colby?" asked Don, what patience he had growing thinner by the moment.

Colby sighed. "It's just that it sounded like she was singing him a lullaby."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"I can't believe I'm in the hospital," Charlie grumbled, staring at the ceiling. "I want to go home."

Alan glanced up from his crossword puzzle and looked at Charlie over his glasses. "I'm glad to hear that, son."

Charlie looked back, confused. "What? Why?"

Alan stood and stretched his legs, and approached the hospital bed. "Because you've been too sick to complain," he answered. "It was…unnerving."

Charlie looked up and contemplated the bags hanging on his IV pole. Saline, and piggybacked onto it, Prednisone, Vincasar, Dexamethasone, an antibiotic so new Charlie didn't even know its name…and that was just for starters. He sighed.

"I've had three chemo sessions since I got here," he said. "The infection is better. If I promise," he looked towards his father with his best, pleading, left-over-from-childhood liquid brown-eyed look. "If I _promise_ to eat, can I go home?"

Alan smiled at him. "Ah, don't give me that look, young man," he said. "I grew immune to _that_ look long ago!"

"Good for you," they heard, and they both turned their heads toward the door see Dr. Stevens. "I probably would have fallen for it if you hadn't warned me!"

Alan laughed, and Charlie looked confusedly between them. "What's going on?" he asked. "Am I to be kept here indefinitey, against my will?"

Alan's eyebrows arched as he went back towards his puzzle. "I've got to cut down Larry's visits," he muttered. "The kid's starting to sound like him."

Dr. Stevens checked the chart at the foot of Charlie's bed. "How are you feeling?" he asked, looking up.

"Better," Charlie said, unable to meet the doctor's eyes. "Really."

Dr. Stevens sat down in the chair closest to the bed. "Well, I guess that is a pretty stupid question to ask a man in the middle of a chemo treatment." He checked the chart again. "Still not eating much," he noted. "How can I take you off that IV and send you home?"

Now Charlie looked directly at him. "Is that all it will take?" he asked hopefully.

Dr. Stevens smiled. "Dr. Eppes," he said, "if I see better numbers on your input by mouth tomorrow, I will release you after tomorrow afternoon's chemo session."

Charlie's face began to break into a wide grin.

"But that's it," the doctor continued sternly. "No more teaching. For the remainder of this round of chemo, you're on house arrest."

"Luckily, his brother is an FBI agent," came a third voice, and the men turned towards the door to see that Don had joined them. "I'll break out the cuffs if I have to."

The doctor stood, smiling, and looked down at Charlie. "It's only a week-and-a-half, doc," he reminded him. "Then we can start the remission blood tests. Can you hang in with us that long?" Charlie nodded, and the doctor began his exit. At the doorway, he turned with one last parting shot. "Oh, and Charlie?" When he was sure the patient was looking at him, he grinned. "I'll be sending the nurse in soon with some blue gelatin. Your dad told me it's your favorite."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Charlie was distracted during his fourth week of chemo by Don, who actually brought him a case to consult on. Larry and Amita joined him as often as they could, and the three heads soon had results that led Don's team to yet another arrest. Monday, Don joined his father and brother at the house for lunch, and the three left earlier than usual for Charlie's chemotherapy, as they had to stop at Dr. Stevens' office first. They all hoped there would _be_ no chemotherapy today; that Dr. Stevens would send Charlie home in remission.

The three waited anxiously for the results of Charlie's blood test. They were back in those same chairs again, facing that same desk. All at once, the déjà vu became too much for Charlie, and he stood up.

"Don," he said, "trade chairs with me."

Don was startled. "What, Buddy?"

Charlie sat down again, sheepish. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just wanted it to look different this time."

Alan touched his son's arm, but before anyone could say anything else, the door opened and Dr. Stevens joined them, chart in hand. He greeted them and sat at his desk, and then looked directly at Charlie.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Charlie felt the disappointment choke the air right out of him, and before he knew what was happening, the doctor was kneeling in front of him, encouraging him to breathe into a paper bag. As soon as he figured out what he was doing, he felt like an idiot. The doctor's hand was still on his, though, so he couldn't do anything except breathe into a paper bag, and look over the edge at the faces of his father and brother, both of whom had left their chairs at some point and were hovering over him. His father looked like he was going to pass out. Charlie looked at the doctor, and waved toward Alan with his free hand. Dr. Stevens looked up, then spoke sharply. "Alan! Please sit down before I have to deal with two of you!"

At the doctor's voice, Don gently guided his father back to his chair, and then sat in his own. The doctor had removed the paper bag from Charlie's face, and was taking his pulse. Then he leaned over and took Alan's. Finally, he stood back up and leaned against the desk. "Well," he said. "I guess that didn't go too well now, did it?"

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After another week of therapy, during which Charlie only seemed to wake up in order to vomit, the three made the trek again.

This time, Don was careful to sit down before Charlie, in a different chair, forcing Charlie to look around and find another one. It reminded Charlie of the "musical chairs" game they used to play as children, and the ghost of a smile crossed his features.

Charlie felt terrible. Today, he wasn't so much worried about the remission results. He couldn't be in remission and feel this bad. He was just worried that Dr. Stevens would put him back in the hospital.

The door opened. "Well, I've got all kinds of news today," Dr. Stevens said as he walked across the room. He sat down and smiled at the three men. Don and Alan were looking at him, and smiled back, but Charlie was preoccupied with his feet.

"Charlie," said the doctor gently, and waited until Charlie finally met his gaze. "Congratulations. You've got a week off."

Don and Alan whooped, and fell into an embrace, but Charlie just kept staring at him. "What?" he finally asked.

Dr. Stevens laughed. "You're in remission," he said. "That's why the chemo is making you sicker than ever. It's acting like poison."

Charlie felt his father's arms around him, and he tried to hug him back, but he couldn't stop looking at the doctor.

"But I want to jump while the iron is hot," continued Dr. Stevens. "That's why I am only giving you a week off. Go home, go to bed, and have your father and brother wake you in a week. Next Monday morning, you're checking into the hospital."

He let the men relax into the news a little, smiling. He loved this part.

"The first thing we'll do," he finally continued, "is a brief surgical procedure to insert a central line under the skin of your chest into a vein. This is how you will receive the myeloablation, or high dose chemo that will destroy your existing bone marrow." He noticed that everyone had stopped smiling, and all the men seemed to be hanging on every word. "This will last between two and four weeks," he said, "and infection is a very serious risk. You'll probably have to spend at least part of this time in islolation."

Charlie blanched, and the doctor rushed on. "Don't worry," he said, "you can still have visitors. They will be limited, however, and will have to follow isolation techniques when they enter your room. You might want to bring your laptop, so you don't feel so cut off from the rest of the world, but Charlie…" and he paused again until he was certain the mathematician was with him. "Charlie, this is high dose chemo. You don't know what feeling bad is, yet."

The doctor turned his attention to Don. "As for you," he said, "you might want to inform your supervisors that you'll be needing some time off soon. I can't be exact until we see how Charlie reacts to the myeloablation."

Don's brows knit as he tried to follow the doctor. "Of course I'll be taking time off for Charlie…" he started, but the doctor interrupted him.

"Yes, and you'll probably want a day or two for yourself, as well. Your tissue type qualifies as an HLA identical donor, Don. You're a six-antigen, full tissue match! This is the best we could hope for."

Don broke into a wide smile and looked over at Charlie, who was looking back, mouth hanging open.

"Hey, Dr. Eppes," said Dr. Stevens, turning his attention back to Charlie, "You like numbers, don't you?'

Automatically, Charlie intoned, "Numbers are everything," still not taking his eyes off Don.

"Then you'll love this," the doctor continued. "There was only a 25 percent chance than Don would be a full tissue match. We usually settle for much less."

"Not me," Charlie answered, eyes locked with Don's. "Don's never given me anything but the best."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Charlie was only in the hospital one day before they moved him to isolation. The high dose chemo elevated his temperature, and he began to cough. It had been a long day: First the central line was put in, then the treatments started. Charlie was ashamed of himself for ever before saying that he was tired.

While Charlie was being transferred, Don took Alan to the hospital cafeteria. Megan found them there, silent, strained, ignoring the plates before them.

"Hey, guys," she said softly, taking a seat at the table.

"Megan!" exclaimed Alan, while at the same time Don offered her a tight smile.

"Hey, Megan," he answered. "What are you doing here? Problems on a case?"

"No, Don," she patted his hand reassuringly. "Things are under control. Well, under control if Colby on steroids is under control. I think he's really trying to make his mark, here, Don."

The two men laughed quietly as Megan continued. "Anyway, it's almost 7. I came by to visit Charlie."

"Oh, right, of course," Don said. "He's had kind-of a hard day…they're moving him to isolation."

Megan smiled, touching Don's hand again. "I know," she said. "The nurse told me, and said I might find you here." She looked at the plates of food in front of them. "That doesn't look good," she finally said.

Alan found his voice, but just barely. "It wasn't," he said simply.

Megan stood. "Then let's go," she said. "Let's go see Charlie."

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In the entryway to Charlie's new room, Alan, Don and Megan took turns washing their hands, and then took rubber gloves from the receptacle and put them on. While they were "gowning up", as the nurse had instructed them, another nurse brushed past them and opened the door to the room.

"I've got more Compazine," she called, and through the open door they could see yet another nurse holding an emesis basin for Charlie. Amita was helping him lean toward the edge of the bed to vomit. It must have been going on for some time, because Charlie didn't appear to have anything in him to bring up anymore. As the door swung shut, Don looked over to his father, who stood holding the gown he had been about to put on. Alan quietly tossed the unused gown into the laundry bin, then removed his rubber gloves.

"Dad?" Don asked.

Alan looked at him, and Don found the look frightening. His father seemed to have aged 20 years since that morning, and tears were running down his cheeks.

"I can't do this," he said, turning away from both his sons."I can't do this again." He rushed past Don into the open hallway. Don started to follow when he felt a hand on his arm.

"I'll go," Megan said. "I'll take care of him. Take him home. Charlie needs you."

Don felt torn in two. He wanted to be with them both. He _needed_ to be with them both. He remembered this feeling. When his mother was sick, and Charlie wouldn't come to be with her, it had felt like this…he had to choose someone, didn't he? Finally, he nodded at Megan and she quickly disposed of her gloves and gown, and chased his father down the hall. Don watched until she caught up to him, began walking silently next to him, and then he reached for the paper mask. Don snapped it over his nose and mouth, and pushed open the door to his brother's room.

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"Don."

He turned from the window to see Charlie looking at him. He had been sleeping by the time Don got into the room, and he and Amita had talked for a while before she left, promising to be back the next day. He smiled behind the mask, even though he knew Charlie couldn't see it. "Maybe he can hear it", he thought, as he walked toward his brother.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he teased lightly.

"Where's Dad?" Charlie asked.

"Damn," thought Don. "I should have been ready for this." Aloud, he only said "He… um, he…" before Charlie spoke again.

"S'kay," he said tiredly, closing his eyes again. "He doesn't have to watch this. Is someone with him?"

"Megan," Don answered.

Charlie smiled, and opened his eyes again. "That's good," he said. "She's been a real friend through all this."

"I know," Don began, but then he saw Charlie's hand reaching out to him and he grabbed it.

"Don," Charlie said, looking directly at him, "you don't have to watch this either. It's all right. I understand."

Don felt tears threaten, and he grasped his brother's hand more tightly. "No, you don't," he said quietly, drawing strength from his own words. "This is where I want to be."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Don called the hospital in the morning, and learned that Charlie's night hadn't gotten any easier. He quickly decided to take the morning off, and spend it with Charlie. A small twinge of guilt pricked at him as he left voice mails for his team members at work, but the need to see Charlie was stronger — as was the voice of experience. He had never regretted any time he had taken away from his own life to spend with his mother when she was sick. If anything, he was sorry he hadn't given her more.

Hospital staff was still collecting breakfast trays when Don approached Charlie's room, but he doubted he'd see one in there. Quickly prepping himself with the isolation techniques, he entered the room just as a nurse was helping Charlie into the large chair near the window. She saw Don, and smiled.

"I don't know how long he'll be able to sit here," she said, tucking a blanket securely around his brother. She checked the bags on the IV pole and patted him on the shoulder. "But he wants to try, right Charlie?"

He didn't answer and the nurse looked at Don. "Just have your brother come and get one of us when you're ready to go back to bed," she finally said, and quietly left the room.

Don dragged a smaller chair over near Charlie and sat to face him. Don had seen him look sick before, but this was different. He was beyond pale, and misery was etched into his features. His eyes were closed and his breathing sounded labored.

"Charlie?" Don asked, gently touching his brother's arm. Charlie opened his eyes, and the desolation in them nearly stopped Don's heart. He almost whispered this time. "Charlie?"

Slowly Charlie lifted one hand, and placed it on his head. Don was surprised practically beyond comprehension when his brother lowered his hand, and it contained a huge clump of curly black hair. "Here," he said bitterly, grabbing Don's hand and dropping the hair into it. "Consider this a souvenir."

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Megan, Colby and David had gone to the deli on the first floor of the FBI building for a quick lunch. They were able to keep up easily with the work load in Don's absences, and Megan, for one, suspected Director Merrick was cutting the whole team some slack. When the elevator door opened and they stepped out, they saw Don sitting at his desk, elbows on the table, head in his hands. They exchanged glances, and then David lead the way.

"Hey, Don," he greeted, approaching his team leader. "We just got back from lunch, but I'll be glad to send Colby back down to get you something…"

Megan snickered, and Colby sputtered out a startled "Hey!", but Don did not react. Megan reached out to touch his arm lightly. "Don?" she asked quietly, "how's Charlie?"

Head still buried in his hands, it was hard to understand what he was saying.

"It's not like this was unexpected," Megan thought she heard. "It's just that when he got through the initial chemotheraphy, we stopped thinking about it."

David spoke again. "Don, I'm having trouble hearing you," he said.

Don sighed, and lifted up his head. Then he slumped back into his chair, and looked up at them. He sighed again.

"I shaved Charlie's head this morning."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Charlie heard the door open, but kept his eyes closed until he heard Katie's voice. She was his favorite nurse, so the least he could do was look at her.

"Charlie!" she hissed again.

He opened his eyes.

"Let me help you sit up," she said, starting the procedure before he even answered her. She seemed oddly…preoccupied, so Charlie guessed it was a busy night for her and let her rearrange him however it suited her. She stepped back and looked at him. "Okay," she was still speaking very quietly, and Charlie had to strain to hear. "That's good enough. Now watch the door. I've got something to show you." Her voice grew excited at the end, and although he was confused, Charlie looked obediently at the door.

David Sinclair walked in. "Hi, Charlie," he said, but he did not approach the bed. Rather, he headed for the far wall, still talking. "I just want you to know that I had the easy part here, but if I didn't shave my head already…"

"David?" Charlie asked, confused. But David was looking back toward the doorway, so Charlie did also. He had a headache, and he was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. It looked like Don was walking in — but he was bald! Charlie rubbed his eyes and looked again, just in time to see someone else lurch through the door, someone obviously pushed from behind. Colby Granger looked embarrassed, as he ran a gloved hand over a bald head.

"Hi, Whiz Kid," he muttered, and then, to someone behind him, "Knock it off, ya little runt!"

"There is no need for such language," said a bald Larry, entering the room to join the line.

The sight of Larry, dwarfed in the hospital gown and mask, and bald, almost did Charlie in. "Oh, my G-d," he whispered, looking from one to the other of them. "Oh, my…"

"Wait, Charles," said the Evil Elf pretending to be Larry. "The best is yet to come!"

He held out his hand toward the door, and Charlie saw the most amazing, and stunning, sight of his 30 years. Stepping into the room, holding gloved hands and giggling, were Megan and Amita. Blue gowns, blue masks, flesh-colored gloves — and bald.

Charlie's mouth dropped open, and he felt the blood drain from his head.

"I hope you don't mind," Megan was saying, "but I'm having my hair made into a wig. I thought it would be more professional for work, but I'm already having second thoughts." She winked at Amita. "Amita and I were just noticing on the way over here, bald chicks get a lot of respect."

The room filled with quiet chuckles, but they were soon interrupted by Katie. "All right, that's enough for one night," she said, watching Charlie. She used the control to lower the head of his bed a little while she grabbed his wrist to check his pulse. "You really need to leave anyway," she said quietly, "before I get fired for letting you all in here. Only one person can stay this evening."

Don leaned out to catch Amita's eye, but she was already halfway across the room. She said on the edge of Charlie's bed, and cradled his head against her. "Shh," she said gently, "Shh, don't cry sweetie…"

Charlie's voice was thick was tears. "But your hair, Ami, your beautiful hair…"

As Don joined the others in filing quickly out of the room, he turned one last time to look at Charlie and Amita. "It's all right, baby," she was saying, pushing him away so that he was sitting up. Then she grasped his head with both of her hands, and pulled him back toward her far enough so that she could kiss his bald head. "It's only hair," Don heard her say as the door swung shut behind him. "We can grow it back together."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"You should have told me," Alan said again, looking over the hospital bed of one bald son to confront the other, who sat grinning at him. "I might have wanted to play, too."

"But Dad," protested Don, "it's not like you'll have hair all that much longer anyway…I thought I was doing you a favor! Besides, I tried to call — you didn't answer your cell, again."

"I told you," answered Alan, "I hate those things." He looked at the photo that was taped onto the side of Charlie's bedside table, so that he could easily see it. The night of "the balding", as Colby referred to it, Megan had brought her digital camera, and Katie had taken a picture of the group. Megan printed out copies for each of the participants, and had sent an enlargement in to Charlie. "Those women," Alan said quietly. "I can't get over those women."

Don didn't know how to respond to that, so he just looked at Charlie. He was curled up on his side, wearing a stocking cap because he was cold all the time. One arm stretched out toward the photo, his fingers just barely touching it. Don doubted that it was an accident that those fingers were closest to Amita. "Ami?" he found himself thinking. "When did he start calling her Ami?"

Charlie stirred and started to roll over onto his back, then blanched. Don deftly grabbed the emesis basin and had it ready when Charlie began to retch. He stood and awkwardly tried to support his brother's back while still holding the basin in the front, but he soon felt other hands and looked up briefly to lock eyes with his father.

"It's all right, Don," the older man said, "you let me do this." He sighed, then continued. "Today, I can do this. I just can't make any promises about tomorrow."

"That's okay, Dad," Don answered, lightly rubbing his brother's shoulder. "Today is all we have."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Charlie had been in the hospital for two weeks, and Don was no longer even trying to work. He had taken a leave of absence, so that he could stand and look at his brother through a window. Charlie wasn't allowed visitors anymore. Today, his father stood with him, rubbing his hand over his chin. Sometimes, when Charlie was awake, they could "talk" to each other in a new, sort of brotherly shorthand sign language that they were developing. Once, a nurse had helped Charlie over to the door, and he had held his hand up against the glass while Don held his on the other side, but that made Don feel too much like he was visiting Charlie in prison, and he didn't ask her to do that again.

Often Amita stood next to him, sometimes Megan, or David, even Colby had stood next to him. Don was so grateful for the people who stood next to him…but he probably didn't let them know that enough.

A third person joined them in the anteroom, and Don and Alan looked over to see Dr. Stevens looking through the window at a sleeping Charlie. In a few moments, he looked down at a chart in his hands, and said quietly, "It's time, now. Charlie's bone marrow is virtually destroyed. It's time to give him something to fight with."

Don brightened. "I'm ready," he said. "I'm already on a leave of absence. When can we do it?"

Dr. Stevens looked at him, then back to Charlie. "I know this is short notice," he began, "but one of my patients…well, I've had a cancellation. I can schedule you for the donor procedure at 10 a.m. Friday, but that's only one day…"

"That's enough," Don interrupted him. "I told you, I'm ready."

"Come with me to my office, then", said the doctor, placing an arm around both Don and Alan to herd them into the hallway. "I'll explain what we're going to do."

Once they were all seated in Dr. Stevens' office, he handed Don a diagram. "Marrow donation is considered a surgical procedure," he started. "We can use a general anesthesia, or a spinal block."

"I don't want to be fuzzy," Don said immediately, "no general. I'll want to get back to Charlie."

The doctor smiled. "I'm sure you will. Often, when we have more time, we have the donor deposit some of his own blood, and transfuse it back to him during the procedure."

This time Alan interrupted. "We're the same blood type," he said eagerly. "Can I give a unit for him?"

"That would be fine, Alan," the doctor answered. "We may not use it. Since Don has requested a spinal, he'll be alert during the procedure and can communicate with us how he is feeling. Of course, he'll also be receiving intravenous fluids. We'll have your unit of blood available, but we'll decide during the harvesting whether or not to use it. I'll set up a time for you to donate tomorrow, before Don's donation on Friday."

Alan smiled, happy to be able to do something, and Dr. Stevens turned back to Don.

"Now during the procedure," he said, we use special, hollow needles to withdraw up to 1 litre of liquid marrow from the back of your pelvic bones. This will immediately be processed and given to Charlie, through his central line. It will only take him a matter of minutes to receive it; for you, the whole thing will be over in a couple of hours."

"What about after?" Alan asked, looking anxiously at Don.

"He can expect to feel some soreness in his lower back for a few days," answered Dr. Stevens, "but most donors are back to normal routines in just a few days. As for the missing marrow, it's completely replaced within four to six weeks. Just try not to get a cold during that time," he smiled.

"And Charlie?" asked Don.

"Charlie will have regular post-transplant blood counts," answered the doctor. "When the bone marrow begins making its own white blood cells — usually within two or three weeks — we have a successful transplant."

Both Eppes men smiled, but the doctor held up his hand. "Now for the rest of the story," he said seriously, and Don and Alan felt the smiles slip from their faces. "Post-transplant infections are frequent," the doctor said. "Remember, he'll have no white blood cells to fight off anything for a few weeks. And no red blood cells at first, either," he continued, "so anemia is inevitable. He'll probably have to have several blood transfusions. The most serious complication we have to watch for is 'Graft versus Host Disease', or GvHD. This can be a major, life-threatening event." At the paling of Alan's face, he added, "Because Don is such a good match, I don't expect that."

Don cleared his throat. "When will we be able to see him?" he asked.

"I'm afraid you'll still be window-watching for the next two weeks," the doctor said, and he sensed their frustration and disappointment. "I'm sorry, but the isolation must be total for a while. Any post-transplant infection would be extremely difficult to treat."

The men were silent for a few moments. Finally, Don spoke. "I understand that." He glanced at his father. "We can appreciate that. It's just that we haven't been able to actually touch him for so long already…"

"I know," said Dr. Stevens quietly. "This is difficult for him, as well." After a few more moments, he added, "I'll be speaking with him this afternoon, telling him what I just told you."

Don understood the unspoken invitation, and turned pleading eyes to the doctor. "Can you give him a message from me?" he asked.

"Of course," the doctor answered.

"Tell him…tell him…" Don searched wildly for the words he wanted to say. "Tell him to hurry up," he finally finished lamely. "I need his help on a case."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Don dreamed of gelatin. Even dreaming, he thought he should be able to come up with something more entertaining to do with gelatin, but it just sat there: Green, Orange, Red…all lined up, staring at him. He was sure they were smiling.

"Go away," he mumbled.

"They won't, you know," answered a spoon, slowly weaving in and out amongst the dishes. "Gelatin never goes away." The spoon stopped its amble and turned to face him. ("Face me", thought the rational part of Don's brain. "How can a spoon face me?")

"Gelatin never dies, either," it said. "These, here, they're from your childhood. Charlie took the blue one."

Don's eyes popped open and he stared uncomprehendingly at the ceiling of his brother's living room. "Let him have it!" he bellowed, and tried to sit up. His legs weren't working right, though, or maybe the blanket over him was too heavy. "I want him to have it!", he yelled again, and tried to pull himself up with his arm and the back of the couch.

"Donnie, Donnie, wake up," said his father's voice, and he felt a warm hand on his forehead. Stronger arms than his pushed him back. "This isn't right," Don thought, as his aching head hit the pillow behind him. "Who in this house has arms stronger than me?"

"Donnie?" he heard again, and he opened his eyes, a task that seemed much harder than it should be. His father hovered over him. Two fathers, actually. Don thought about the gelatin again and leaned over the side of the couch, and vomited on his father's shoes.

He fell back and raised a hand to his bald had, shocked the rest of the way into wakefulness by the feel of it. "Where's my hair?" he asked his father, who was looking with some displeasure at his shoes.

"Let me clean this up, first," said his father, carefully slipping out of his loafers. "Then we'll talk."

By the time Alan had brought a bucket and brush from the kitchen and completed his task, Don was asleep again. Alan returned the supplies, went to the laundry room to change his socks, then padded back into the living room. He sat in the chair, and waited for Don to wake up again. He must have fallen asleep himself, then, because Don's voice woke him.

"Dad?" he asked softly.

"Donnie!" Alan smiled, leaning toward the couch. "How are you feeling?"

Don shifted slightly and grimaced. "I'm okay," he said. "What happened? Why did we come home? I want to go see Charlie."

"Hush, son, too many questions," said Alan. He looked at the clock on the wall. "It's almost 3 a.m. I don't think they'll let us see Charlie, now."

Don looked confused, tried again to sit up. Alan left his chair to help, and this time Don succeded. "But I thought I would get to see Charlie after the procedure," he said, and he hated that his voice sounded like a whine.

"I know you did," answered Alan, sitting on the couch next to his son and patting his knee. "Dr. Stevens knew that you wanted to…but between you and me," he looked conspiralitorily at Don. "He told me you probably wouldn't."

"Did something go wrong?", Don asked shakily.

"No, No, No, Donnie, nothing went wrong," answered Alan, smiling. "But the procedure was a few hours behind schedule, and it's not unusual to be tired afterwards, have a headache, nausea…" he looked down toward his socks. "I think you've hit all those high points."

Don groaned, his memory returning with force. "I think a spoon was talking to me about Jell-O," he said, leaning back against the couch.

Alan brightened. "Would you like some? It's probably ready by now…"

A chuckle escaped Don. "Dad, why do you always do that? You know Charlie and I both hate Jell-O."

"I don't _always_ do it," protested Alan, getting to his feet and helping Don achieve a horizontal position again. "Only when you're sick. And I didn't make any blue, this time. That's Charlie's favorite."

Don smiled again as his eyes drifted shut. "We'll go in the morning, right?" he asked sleepily.

"Of course, son," said Alan, smoothing the blanket. "You sleep a few more hours." He sighed, and looked again at the clock. "We'll go in the morning."

NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS

Don moved more stiffly than he would like, but still rather quickly. A couple of times he had to wait for Alan to catch up. Finally, they rounded the corner to Charlie's room. As they entered the isolation anteroom, Dr. Stevens was coming out, scribbling on a chart and speaking quickly to the nurse beside him. She hurried towards the nurses' station and Dr. Stevens saw Alan and Don. "How are you feeling this morning," he asked, not unkindly, but with more stress behind his words than Don was used to. "I'm good," he answered. "Kind-of a weird night, and I'm a little stiff, but it gets better with every passing hour."

"Good, that's good," smiled Dr. Stevens. "I'm glad to hear that." He still stood between Don and Alan and the window in the door to Charlie's room.

"What is it?" Don asked. "How's Charlie?"

The doctor sighed. "Charlie is pretty uncomfortable right now," he started, maintaining eye contact with both men. "He is receiving a blood transfusion for anemia, and he's developed a lung infection, so we have him on oxygen, and are starting an aggressive antibiotic intraveneous treatment. He also has a pretty painful case of mucositis — the lining of his mouth is very inflamed, and he has a few sores in his mouth. There's not much we can do about that, except let him suck on ice. There are a few clinical trials being done on drug treatment for mucositis, but I'm hoping this will clear up on its own now that the high dose chemo is over."

"Lung infection?" asked Don with alarm. "It's not that Graft…Graft…"

"It is my hope," interrupted Dr. Stevens, "that this is only a lung infection that will respond to the antibiotics. I have to be honest, however. This could be the first sign of Graft verses Host Disease."

The men were silent, and Dr. Stevens stepped away from the window. Don and Alan looked through, and saw something they did not even recognize. Whoever laid in that bed was so still, so unmoving, so white…

Don heard a choke beside him. "Dear G-d," gasped Alan, and he pushed past Don into the hallway. Don tried to grab him, but his own reactions were still too slow. Dr. Stevens left after Alan, and Don couldn't really see his father well anymore…at least, not until he was on the floor, with Dr. Stevens and several other hospital personnel bent over him. Don approached, but couldn't get near. He leaned against the opposite wall, and felt himself sliding down to the floor. He looked back down the hallway, and saw a nurse hurry into his brother's room. He looked at his father on the floor in front of him, Dr. Stevens shining a penlight into his eyes. He didn't know what to do. He looked back towards Charlie's room again. He didn't know where to go. Back at his father. He didn't know, until he felt her hands brushing away at his face, that Megan was on the floor beside him, and that he was crying.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

The three of them ended up in an exam room in the ER. Dr. Stevens was sure Alan had passed out from shock, and there were no other underlying problems, but because of his age and the stress he had been under, decided to run an EKG on him anyway, and give him a round of pure oxygen. The EKG had been normal, the oxygen had helped, and now they just waited for some release papers. Alan sat on an examination table, Don sat in a chair near him, and Megan stood awkwardly at the door.

"I should leave," she said for the fifth time, and again Alan asked her not to. "You're part of this family, now," he smiled. "Get used to it."

Megan smiled back. "I'm not sure that can be done, Alan," she answered, and the three were chuckling when Dr. Stevens came back into the room.

"Ah, good," he smiled. "That's sounding much better!" He handed Alan his discharge orders and then hesitated. Everyone looked at him expectantly. Finally, he held out a sheet of paper. "Charlie's nurse just gave me this," he said. "It's dated last week, and it was saved on a CD. He asked the night nurse to find a way to print it out, and give it to you."

Alan made no move for the paper, so finally Don took it, and started reading. Soon, he held it toward Megan. "I'm sorry," he choked. "Can you read this? I don't think I can."

"Of course," she said, helping Don as he pushed himself off the chair and went to stand behind his father. He wrapped one arm all the way around Alan's chest, and the older man reached up with one hand to hold on. He nodded at Megan, and as she sat in the chair Don had just vacated, Dr. Stevens quietly left the room.

Megan decided not to read it to herself, first. That had probably been Don's mistake. Instead, she just began:

_Dear Daddy,_

_The nights are long here._

_For a few weeks now, I have been using them to try and design an algorithm that mathematically defines love. I think I may have a new "P vs NP" unsolveable problem. I've even tried the physics quantum field theory that Larry is so fond of. At first, I didn't think I had enough data, and I actually interviewed some of the people here to get more. Then I thought I had gathered too much. The answer was so simple, however, that it completely eluded my drug-riddled brain for days. It's an anomaly. There are too many variables — or maybe not enough. How can you mathematically measure a parent's love for a child, a child's love for that parent, a brother's love for a brother…or a man's love for a woman? It cannot be measured, or predicted — it can only be experienced._

_Dad, I asked you once if you were angry with me because of the way I acted (and didn't act) when Mom was sick. You told me that you tried to be, you wanted to be angry at something, or someone — but Mom wouldn't let you pick me. You said that she understood that part of me was always with her, even when it wasn't the physical manifestation of me. I've wondered ever since if that were true. If nothing else, this experience with leukemia has set that doubt to rest. Now, I can understand that aspect of love, as well. I feel you with me every moment, Dad, whether you are physically here or not. I know that you would give your last breath for me — I just don't want you to. Please take care of yourself, and Don, our rock — he's stronger than all of us, but he's not as strong as he wants to be._

_I will always love you both._

_Charlie_


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Don's back felt much better today. The tiny incisions, not even enough for stitches, were driving him crazy, though. He had to stop himself from backing up to a tree like a bear, and scratching. But at least he felt like he could stand here, at the window to Charlie's world, and not fall down.

Charlie was receiving another blood transfusion, and Dr. Stevens was inside. He spoke with the nurse, and turned to leave. He saw Don in the anteroom, and turned back to the bed. The doctor leaned over Charlie; Don could tell he was speaking to him. Then Charlie's head turned toward the door, and his eyes opened. He didn't seem really focused, and his attempt at a smile was a miserable failure, but he managed to lift one hand toward the window. Don smiled back, hoping Charlie could see him, or that someone would translate, and waved a greeting in return.

"His left lung has definitely developed pneumonia," said the doctor, as soon as the door swung shut behind him. "We're still not ready to say this is GvHD. We're going to try another antibiotic. We've also added Neupogen, a growth factor, to the mix. We want to try to stimulate his new bone marrow into making white blood cells."

"I understand," Don said simply.

NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS

"I can't believe I let you talk me into picking up a night shift," Katie whispered fiercely, watching Don scrub his hands in the sink. "I can't believe _what_ I let you talk me into. First, the attack of the bald tomatoes, now this…" She stopped talking.

"I appreciate all of it, Katie, I really do," whispered Don, flashing her his best grin.

"You can stop now," she said. "You're scrubbing your hands off."

"I want to be sure," he said. Lamely, he added, "I probably shouldn't be doing this."

Katie rolled her eyes as she helped him tie the gown in back and handed him a mask. "Well it's a little late now," she murmured, and opened the door to Charlie's room.

The two walked quietly to the bed. Katie checked his vital signs, and then leaned over the still form, shaking his shoulder gently. "Charlie!" she whispered, in the vicinity of his ear. Her aim was off, since she was also trying to look over her shoulder at the door. She tried again. "Charlie, wake up!"

Slowly the dark brown eyes opened, and focused on Katie. They widened in disbelief when Don stepped out from behind her, and laid his hand — his actual, non-gloved hand — on Charlie's arm.

Charlie looked to Katie. "Have I died?", he whispered.

"No," she assured him with a smile, "nothing's dying in this room tonight!" She turned to the door again, and Don heard her mutter under her breath, "except maybe my career…".

He smiled, and sat down in the chair nearest Charlie's bed, dragging it forward a little, to be closer to his brother. "Hey, Buddy," he said quietly.

Charlie smiled, the slow, sleepy smile that meant he still wasn't convinced. Then his eyes grew anxious, and he stirred in the bed. "Are you all right?"

"Charlie…" Don increased the pressure slightly on Charlie's arm. "I'm good, I'm fine. I just wanted to see you."

Charlie was awake now, but that confused him even more. He looked at Katie again. "How did you get him in here?" he asked.

"Your brother," she said, grinning mischieveously at her patient, "threatened to arrest me if I didn't."

Charlie's eyes widened again, and he looked at Don. He could see the crinkle of Don's eyes above the mask, and then he grinned also. "You know," he said, taking as deep a breath as he could, "Mathematically, I could probably prove you did it."

Katie snorted, and clapped her hands over her mouth at the same time that they all heard the door open. "Dr. Stevens!" she cried. "What are you doing here so late?"

The doctor stood silently and regarded them for awhile, and finally answered, "I had a patient in crisis. I thought I'd check on Charlie while I was here." He lowered his gaze to the chart in his hands. "If I were seeing what I am not seeing," he said, walking toward them, how long would I have seen it?"

Katie looked momentarily confused, and then answered. "Um… just a few minutes, Doctor."

He reached the side of the bed and leaned over Charlie to listen to his lungs with a stethoscope. "And since I am not seeing this," he continued when he finished, straightening up, "and I'm sure that I won't not be seeing this again, I don't need to speak with the nursing supervisor."

Katie regarded her toes. "Thank you, Doctor."

Dr. Stevens smiled at Charlie. "Next time I see your brother," he said, "I'll tell him that your lungs sound better. We'll bring in the portable x-ray in the morning and check again. This new antibiotic could be doing the trick."

Don smiled widely under the mask and moved his hand so that he was holding one of Charlie's in both of his. The doctor watched Charlie loose the battle to stay awake, and saw the lines of stress and despair fall from his face as he felt his brother touch him. Dr. Stevens looked at Don's gloveless hands for a moment and then turned to Katie. "Join me for some coffee, nurse?" he asked, steering her toward the door. "You won't believe what I just didn't see."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

As Charlie steadily improved, Don decided it was time to end his leave of absence. He would at least put himself back on-call to his team, even if he didn't show up for work on a regular basis yet. The days developed a routine. He would bring donuts and coffee to the FBI office every morning, and have a breakfast meeting with Megan, David and Colby. Most of the time, Megan did not wear the wig she had made. She really meant it when she told Charlie she was enjoying being bald. Don knew one thing — the sight of her coming into an interrogation room sure threw suspects off their guard.

Around 10:00, he would head for the hospital. Sometimes he picked his father up first, and they went together. Charlie still couldn't spend much time away from his bed, so the visits were short — but frequent. Charlie began to understand that any time he woke up during the day, he would see someone through the window in the anteroom. Don, his dad, Larry, Amita, Megan, David, Colby — they all made the trip, sometimes together, sometimes separately. When he thought about it, he decided they had probably made another schedule, like when he first started chemo.

After seven days, Dr. Stevens declared the infection just that — an infection, and Charlie was taken off oxygen. Soon, he began to spend several hours a day in the chair by the window, sometimes working on his laptop, but usually, just thinking.

Two weeks after the bone marrow stem cell transplant, Dr. Stevens met Don at the anteroom door. "You're late," he said.

Don looked at his watch — 1:00 p.m. — and frowned. "I know," he said hurriedly, trying to get past the doctor to the window. "I wanted to be there when Megan and Colby brought in Carpenter…" he heard himself rambling, and stopped to look the doctor in the eye. "Why?"

Dr. Stevens smiled. "We did a blood count this morning," he said. "Charlie's bone marrow is producing white blood cells."

Don barely felt it as the doctor grabbed his arm and guided him back to a chair. "You okay? You Eppes guys pass out a lot."

Don looked up at him, stunned. "But it's only been two weeks," he began. "Charlie was so sick…"

"Yes, well, I've asked him to run the numbers on the odds of this whole thing," the doctor answered. "I'll put the results in the case file."

Don didn't even smile. He still couldn't believe this was happening, and he just looked at the doctor, who drew up another chair to sit down opposite him.

"It looks good, Don," he said gently. "Charlie's isolation will be lifted tomorrow, although he'll stay here for another week or two while his counts go up." He glanced up toward the window in Charlie's door. "At least, that's what I keep telling him."

"What do you mean?" Don asked, and he jumped from the chair to rush over to the window. He _knew_ there was another shoe to drop, _of course_ there had to be more bad news…and then he stopped. Charlie had on his headphones, his gym bag on top of the bed. He appeared to be packing.

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Charlie sat cross-legged on top of his hospital bed, playing chess with his father. He glanced at the clock.

Don laughed. "It's not going to work, Buddy. Can't go home until tomorrow."

"Check-mate," said his father. "You're really not concentrating. I'm not sure I've beaten you at chess since you were 7."

"I'm thinking of giving up my tenure at Cal Sci," Charlie said, nervously.

Don choked on the coffee he had been sipping. "_What_?"

"But you love teaching," Alan added. "It was only one chess game, son!"

Charlie smiled slightly. "I didn't say I'd give up teaching. I could continue there as an adjunct professor, teaching one or two classes per semester."

Don looked at his father, then down at the stain the choked coffee was making on his jeans. "Why would you do that?"

Charlie slowly got up off the bed and wandered over to the window. The sun was setting outside. "I've had a lot of time to think," he said quietly. "There are so many things I love to do…this would give me time to do more of them."

"Like what?" Alan asked, studying his still-too-thin son. "Eat, I hope?"

Charlie shot his father a withering glance, then looked back outside. "Very funny. This could actually expand my teaching, for one thing. I could do more guest lectures at other universities. Spend a lot more time on my own research." He looked at Don. "And consulting. I love consulting. I'll have to take my time getting back into everything, so it would probably only be locally, for you. At least for awhile."

The men were silent. "I'm not opposed to this, son," Alan finally said. "But are you sure you should be making big decisions right now? You've been through a lot. And Dr. Stevens says you're still very susceptible to complications for at least the next three months, and full recovery is at least two years away…"

"Well I'm not going to do nothing for two years, Dad," said Charlie sharply. Then he sighed, and walked over to the bed again. He sat on the edge and faced his father. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "I'm not making the decision right now. I have thought about it a lot, and I'll take the summer to think some more. I just wanted you to know what I'm considering."

Alan smiled, and reached out to touch his son's hand. "Thank you, Charlie. You know I'll support whatever you decide." He cleared his throat, and then continued. "Charlie? The letter you wrote…"

Charlie looked away uncomfortably. "I probably shouldn't have done that," he said. "It was a really bad night."

"No, no, son," said Alan, leaving his chair to sit on the edge of the bed with his son. "I just wanted to tell you that I'll treasure it always. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever read."

Charlie blushed, and, remembering the letter, Don felt his throat begin to close up. Determined to lighten the mood again, he addressed his brother. "So Charlie. Teaching, researching, consulting…is that all you're going to do?" He was surprised when Charlie's color deepened even more.

"Well, actually," his brother answered, not looking either of them in the eye, "I was kind-of hoping to take up dating."


	21. Epilogue

Epilogue

Don pulled the SUV into the driveway, and gathered up the files. He hoped this wasn't too much for Charlie, but he really needed his help on this case. It was driving him nuts. He'd be sure to feed him small pieces, though, and encourage Larry and Amita to get involved. "I'm really doing him a favor," he thought. Charlie was on "house arrest" for at least another month, and he knew his brother was going stir crazy. "Not to mention Dad…", his thoughts continued.

He entered the front door and sighed wearily. What a day. He ran his hand over his head in that familiar gesture of frustration, and sighed again at the texture. After all he had put Charlie through their entire lives, he _could not_ believe that his hair seemed to be growing back in tight curls. He was seriously considering shaving his head again.

"Hey, dad", he said, finding his father reading a book in the living room.

"Hey, yourself," Alan replied, not looking up from his book. "Help yourself to leftovers. Charlie and Amita are out by the koi pond." Alan glanced at his watch then, and frowned. "Go make him come in," he suggested. "He shouldn't be out in the night air."

Don laughed as he passed his father. "It's 80 degrees out, Dad!" He felt his father glaring at his back. "Don't worry," he threw back over his shoulder, "I'll just get a beer first and then I'll go get him."

He placed the files on the kitchen table and opened the refrigerator, grabbing a beer and twisting it open with a practiced ease. He took one long drink, and then wandered to the kitchen door. He stepped out to the porch, prepared to call Charlie, when he stopped. Charlie and Amita stood hand-in-hand at the koi pond, heads close together, obviously talking. Don was considering going back in, giving them a little longer, when suddenly Charlie pointed at something, and they both started laughing. They looked…happy. Don smiled, and his mind took a picture.

**A/N:** That's all, folks! Writing my first fan fiction has been a powerful experience. Thanks to all who reviewed. Sequels are in my head, so please stay tuned!


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